


where the heart is

by moogle62



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Home, Multi, mildly touch-starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-16 11:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18520786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moogle62/pseuds/moogle62
Summary: Ronan comes home.





	where the heart is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misprinting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misprinting/gifts).



> A snapshot of commune fluff for Misprinting <3 Happy Crooked Exchange!
> 
> (Keep it secret, keep it safe etc.)

It isn’t the first time Ronan’s been away since they all moved in together, or the longest he’s been away from them all in general, but it is the longest he’s been away since they’ve had the big house, a bunch of bedrooms and a huge bed in one of them, enough space for six people and change. His hotel room in Sweden felt tiny and too big all at once, the mattress endless underneath him and no one rolling over to elbow him in their sleep.

It’s fine, though. He’ll be home soon.

His flight lands on time, for once, and he messages the others as soon as he’s in a cab, carry-on slung at his side -- 

**Ronan**  
On my way back. Are we ordering in tonight?

**Lovett**  
Definitely

**Emily**  
Yes!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Jon**  
Please yes  
Tommy says yes too  
He’s under the dogs so he can’t type right now

**Hanna**  
I vote NO because I’M NOT THERE  
jk jk have fun  
don’t get my noodles tho, those are the rules

\-- and it’s easy to let a little more tension roll off him as the replies come in, easy to picture his people on their new huge couches, Tommy on the floor letting the dogs lick his face. Hanna, stealing a moment at her conference, smiling down at her phone. 

Ronan lets himself close his eyes. He smiles too.

//

Ronan lets himself in to the sound of Mario Kart, and Jon’s character -- he doesn’t have to see the screen to know it’s Jon -- falling off the track. He can’t hear Tommy, and his running shoes are missing from the rack by the door. Tommy gets antsy when he’s waiting for someone, sometimes, like he can jinx it somehow, by wanting it too much, and Ronan has been encouraging him to run it out, to do what he needs. He’ll be there, when Tommy is done.

Pundit comes padding into the hall, jumping up at his legs before he’s even put his bag down, and he scoops her up to head through to the others, nuzzling at her soft fur. “Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and she wriggles happily in his arms, squirming for more attention. It feels like it’s been weeks since he last saw her, not the handful of days it has been, in a way that the jetlag can’t account for.

“There was a banana!” Jon is protesting, as Ronan walks in. Emily and Lovett are soundly, and cheerfully, ignoring this blatant falsehood. “Hey, Ronan,” and Jon grins up at him from the floor, gap-toothed and welcoming. He’s in the perfect position for Emily, when she has a hand free, to reach down and run her fingers through his hair. They must not have had plans today: Jon’s hair is soft, free from product. Mussable. 

“Don’t talk, I’m beating Emily,” Lovett calls, without looking up, as, on the screen, Princess Peach lobs a blue shell at Lovett’s Princess Daisy and speeds, delightedly, into the distance. Lovett swears, and leans over the controller like that’s going to make his character go faster. “I’m blaming you for that, Farrow. No, hey, that’s cheating, you can’t just pause it --”

“-- I’m going to win anyway,” Emily points out. She leans back, tipping her head up so she’s smiling at Ronan upside down. “Hi, babe. Pizza?”

Ronan kisses her, gently, chaste, letting Pundit scamper out of his arms. This isn’t new either, but every time he comes home again it feels like he’s settling back into place, like every kiss with all of them is something special. 

Lovett reaches up and cups the back of his neck as Emily makes an appreciative noise into the kiss and Ronan feels himself shiver, like Lovett’s touching his whole body instead of a palm’s worth of skin at his nape. 

He wasn’t away long, but going from a six-person house to an empty hotel room, empty handshakes with new acquaintances -- well, it took more effort than he was expecting, given all the years he and Lovett spent a continent apart, connected by phones and headsets and photos. Maybe Ronan’s greedy now, too used to being able to reach out for people he trusts. Maybe he just missed them, all of them. The life they’ve made together.

When he straightens up, Lovett is watching him, head cocked to one side. Ronan never has been able to hide anything from him. He tries to think _it’s fine_ , but Lovett doesn’t look convinced. Ronan thinks it harder: there’s nothing wrong that being sandwiched by everyone and a lazy weekend won’t fix, nothing that hasn’t been falling away from him since he stepped through the door. Lovett cocks his head to one side, understanding. _Okay_ , the gesture says, _but don’t think we’re not talking about it later_. 

Ronan kisses his knuckles, grateful and tender, Lovett’s hand dainty in his. There are marks on his fingers where the controller has dug in. They must have been playing for a while.

“Sit here and watch me win,” Lovett says, out loud, patting the couch. He doesn’t move over and neither does Emily even though there’s plenty of room, and Ronan has to squeeze into the space between them, Emily’s folded legs poking into his thigh when he’s settled and Lovett leaning pointedly against his side. Lovett kisses him too, brief, ostentatiously pretending his attention is more on the paused game than on Ronan. His chin is tipped up, but the smile he sends sideways is real, and small, and just for the two of them. 

He can see how the rest of the evening’s going to unfold: Tommy coming back in from his run, kissing Ronan while he’s still sweaty; the five of them jostling for the best pizza slices; Lovett holding court about the latest office injustice, gesturing with his Diet Coke until it spills. They’ll FaceTime Hanna, if the wifi at her hotel is working, catch up on her day and start to make plans for when she's home tomorrow. They’ll take the dogs out together, maybe, the five of them in the dimming evening light, the dogs sniffing at every tree. It'll be the absolute opposite of an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar country, nine hours out of sync with the people he loves.

Ronan tucks his arm around Lovett’s waist, drops a kiss on the curve of his shoulder, settling in. “Pizza,” he agrees, belatedly, and gestures at the screen. “Winner picks the topping?”

Lovett and Emily both sit up straighter in readiness. Ronan glances over to Jon to share a quiet grin.

“Deal,” Emily says, with the easy confidence of the reigning household Mario Kart champion, and starts the game again.

//

They eat on the couch too. Emily won the game, to much squawking from Lovett, but she bargained away pizza choice for viewing choice, so they’re all catching up on The Bachelor. There’s not really enough room on the couch, big as it is, for the five of them, but they’re making it work, pressed in close. Emily’s half in Tommy’s lap, half in Jon’s, and Tommy has his arm around Ronan’s shoulders, thumb brushing the base of Ronan’s neck, just where Lovett can rest his cheek against it.

The dogs, likewise, are piled up on the floor. Sometimes Ronan thinks that saying about dogs and their owners is worryingly prescient.

Lovett shifts slightly, looking Ronan in the eye. He’s got end-of-day stubble, and pizza sauce in the corner of his mouth, and Ronan never wants to look at anything outside of this room again, just fill his gaze up with his Lovett, his people, and his home. 

“I’m glad you’re back,” Lovett says, low-voiced, his hand tightening briefly, gently, on Ronan’s thigh. “We missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Ronan says, and kisses him, lingering in their press of mouths. _Thank you_ , the kiss says, and _I love you_ , and _I’m home_.


End file.
